On the Massage Table

"Welcome," said Joni. "I'll need you to fill out this form."

"Sure, yes, thank-you," said Emily.

Joni considered her patient. She was young, twenty-something. Blonde, freckled, curvy. She filled out the form with seriousness, knitting her brows together, leaning over the clipboard slightly, a hint of cleavage showing beneath her sensible blouse.

"There," she said. "All done," she smiled.

"Okay, then let's get started. Follow me."

Joni led Emily into a small room with a massage bed and a desk with neatly arranged oils and balms.

"Now, do you have any specific problem areas?" asked Joni, looking at the form. "It says here you're a teacher. Shoulder tension?"

"Yes, how did you know? I've been so stressed lately. So much marking."

"Well, we'll get it sorted out. Have you had a massage before?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so then you know the drill. Clothes off and between the sheets. I'll give you a moment."

"Great," she smiled.

Joni left the room and stood just outside the door listening to the sounds of her patient undressing. So, here she was, finally, a massage therapist. It had been work, but now here she was, three weeks into her new career, dressed in scrubs, overjoyed.

She whispered to herself, as she had every day since she'd started: "You've come a long way, girl." Just a few years ago, after she'd barely graduated high school, she worked at a juice bar in the gym across the street from the dingy apartment she shared with her mother. Still shared, she reminded herself. But, only until she could get enough money together to get a place of her own.

Her mother was a part-time waitress and a full time whore. She remembered coming home from school early one day to find her mother, absurdly bronzed, naked in the living room, her thick, worn body gleaming sweatily in the afternoon sun. The three of them, her, her mother, and a moustached man, froze in shock, his cock still in his mother's mouth.

After he'd gone, his mother sat on the couch smoking, her ratty bathrobe refusing to stay closed, and said matter-of-factly, "A girl's got to use what she has while she still has it."

That was a lesson Joni took to heart. Later, when she wanted pot or booze or whatever, she knew how to get it. There was a man upstairs, Gordon, who sat around all day shirtless and in track pants, peddling his drugs. But, for a girl like Joni, he sold it for a blow job.

One time, she remembered, she'd been in between his legs, putting his cock way down her throat when his wife, Danielle, had returned home with a bag of groceries. She'd dropped the groceries and grabbed Joni by the hair, pulling her away.

"The price just went up, bitch," she'd said. Then, kneeling on the couch, she'd pulled off her sweatpants and shoved her ass out. "Eat this dirty ass, clean or never come back here again."

Squatting down, she licked the outside edges of Danielle's ass, smelling a thick, repulsive pungency, and hesitating. But, Danielle grabbed the back of her head with strong hands and shoved her face deep within her fat cheeks. "Make it good, bitch, or I'll tell your mother what a fucking little stoner you are."

Suffocating inside that big ass, Joni felt a wetness between her legs that she hadn't expected. Or maybe she had. It was the same way when she sucked Gordon's flagging cock, she was wet then, too. Not with the pleasure of cock-sucking so much as the pleasure of humiliation and shame, the pleasure of being a whore; this was a pleasure that lasted so much longer than an orgasm. It lasted as she left the apartment with a gram of pot and the sour taste of his cum in her throat.

She'd pushed her tongue deep into Danielle's ass. Tasting the morning's shit and the sweat and stain of a few days without a shower. She wanted that smell all over her face, she wanted to live with it, get a whiff of it on her hair later on that day at work. She spit, and slobbered, and drove her tongue deeply into the girl's asshole over and over again while Danielle rubber her clit.

Finally, the big girl came and loosened her grip on Joni's head.

Joni sat back on her haunches. Gordon looked on, his cock hard, his expression amazed. Danielle turned around and sat down. "Goddamn, girl." And so it was, from then on, she bought from Danielle.

But, she thought with satisfaction as she knocked on the door, those days are over. "Ready," she asked.

"Yes," came the muffled reply.

She entered the room and got to work, probing the woman's tense muscles, making light conversation about work and the weather.

Yes, those days are over. She wasn't sure exactly how it had happened. It had been one day when she was in her room, high, listening to her mother bang someone in the other room, when all of a sudden, the wind blew through her window and she felt, with conviction, that it was now or never. It was now, and she'd made it happen.

As she massaged Emily, caressing her pale white skin, she felt the old flame rise in her. It was an issue she'd wrestled with frequently over these past three weeks. She hoped it would die out with repetition. Everytime she massaged someone, no matter who they were, she felt the urge to slide her hands under the blanket, to push her fingers into their ass cracks, to rub her pussy against their bodies. She felt it as a loosening between her legs, a familiar wetness and heat, a thickening in her brain, a tightness in her throat.

Today seemed to be especially bad. Her boyfriend, Ethan, had been busy all weekend, leaving her wound up and unresolved.

She concentrated. She tried to concentrate. She moved down to Emily's feet, exposing one shapely, creamy leg.

"Do you run?" asked Joni.

"Oh, I do. I run all the time. It's my way of dealing with tension."

"I can tell, you legs are strong," she said, running her hands up the woman's leg in a way that bordered on improper. She caught herself with her hands on Emily's inner thigh.

"Oh, you're really getting at the right spots," she said. "I can really feel myself relaxing."

"Good," said Joni, relieved. "That's what I'm here for."

After massaging the other leg, again unconsciously pushing the boundaries, Joni came back to the top of the bed and held up the blankets, sneaking a quick peek down at the pale girl's tight body. "I'm going to need you to turn over," she said.

The next few minutes were acutely tortuous as Joni massaged Emily's chest and neck muscles, her hands inching dangerously close to her nipple with each pass. Finally, it was over and Joni mustered her faculties enough to say: "That's all for today. I'll see you outside."

She walked out and closed the door, leaning against it, listening again, now to the girl getting up slowly, sighing, and dressing. She noticed that her panties were almost soaked through and looked down with alarm, relieved to see that nothing was visible on her scrubs. "Goddamn," she whispered to herself. "Get a grip."

After Emily had left, and before stripping the bed and cleaning the sheets, Joni pushed her nose into the middle of the bed, against the sheets where Emily's naked pussy had been. She breathed deeply and shoved her hands down her pants violently, stroking quickly and efficiently, her moan silenced against the soft mattress.

Later that night, she'd gone home and waited in her bedroom for Ethan, who said he had some news. Her mother was out working, and she was glad to have the peace to give herself a full working over. When she masturbated, she liked to wrap a wet pillowcase over her face as tightly as possible and then touch herself lightly, almost imperceptibly for a long time, edging toward an orgasm and then pulling back, over and over again until all at once she felt she couldn't breathe and then finally, in a panic, she would push herself over the edge, pulling off the pillowcase just before she passed out, sucking in the cool air with relief.

She was showering when she heard Ethan arrive.

She called out: "I'm in the shower. I'll be out in a minute."

Suddenly, his voice was in the bathroom, "Don't rush. I'll join you. I just came from the gym."

He climbed into the steamy shower and grabbed her face and kissed her.

"Turn around," she said. "Let me soap you."

He did as he was told and she soap his back, allowing herself, finally, to push her fingers deep inside his ass, to grab his balls, gently, to stroke his hard cock.

"I've missed you," she cooed softly.

"Me too," he said, still facing away from her. He turned, "I have some news," he said, smiling.

"You said. What is it?"

"Ryan asked if I wanted to move in with him. He has a spare room and is looking for someone to share the rent. He said you could move in, too. We could share the room. Are you interested?"

"Yes," she said, standing on her tippy toes, kissing him. "Yes. I'd love to."